"I should simply for a time take absolutely no notice of her, and what would be better still, and would certainly lead to most excellent results, get up a mild flirtation with someone else."
Sir Ralph looked serious. "Mrs. Nugent," he said, "I am not a bit that sort of fellow, you know. I'm really an awful duffer at saying pretty things to a woman, especially when I don't mean them."
"Never mind, try your best for once in a way. For take my word for it, if you want Amy as a wife, you must first rouse her pique, her jealousy. She feels far too sure of you now, and she will be surer still if she finds you have no intention of going off again--as she now half fears you may do. If I were you, and if really you care to be guided by me, I should advise you to choose a married woman for your flirtation, a woman who would be sensible enough not to take too much au grand serieux any nonsense you may talk."
Sir Ralph Nicholson thrust his hands down into his pockets and walked to the window. He stood gazing for some moments out on to the cherry trees shining like pale pink snow in the brilliant sunshine. Then he turned suddenly round and faced Pearl.
"Mrs. Nugent," he said, "I have something on my mind which I must tell you. May I?"
"Certainly," replied Pearl quietly, "I am accustomed to receiving confidences. What is it?"
"Oh, it is not a confidence. It is something about--about you--this time. At least I mean not about you, but about--Martinworth."
Pearl rose from her seat, and going up to Ralph clutched nervously at his sleeve.
"What is it?" she asked breathlessly, while she turned very pale. "Is--is he dead?"
"Dead! Good Heavens! No. He was in the most flourishing state of health when I saw him last in Paris, but he has nevertheless dished himself pretty considerably. He is--he is--you must know sooner or later--he is--married, and--and--what's more, he is coming out here."